


Definitely, Maybe

by MagicGirlinAMuggleWorld



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Oblivious Harry, Opposites Attract, but totally smitten, or something, snobby Draco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicGirlinAMuggleWorld/pseuds/MagicGirlinAMuggleWorld
Summary: My first Drarry fic! A Muggle university AU, with a very snobby but very sweet Draco and a totally oblivious Harry. Based on this prompt from @just-another-otp-prompt-blog on Tumblr:Prompt 62Person A had their headphones in when Person B first asked them out, which B was unaware of at the time. So when Person B saw A’s head bobbing along to the music, they took it as a yes.So it’s been months of A and B going on dates, and B stealing kisses and A just smiling and letting whatever happens happen. Somehow it gets brought up that they’re dating and A is instantly like “wait– we’re dating?”“Um, yeah???”“Oh cool weird”“What else would we have been? I’ve kissed you at least like 3 times every time I see you. We’ve gone to the movies every Saturday for two months.”“Honest, I was just kinda going with it. Thought you were just real affectionate and stuff. But yeah, sure, we can be dating.”
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 88
Kudos: 593





	Definitely, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KittyCargo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyCargo/gifts).



> For my dear KittyCargo, who inspired me to try my hand at Drarry! And thanks to my friend Jamaal, who is not on tumblr or Ao3 but beta'd this for me and told me to stop messing with it and release it into the wild :-)

For the record, Draco didn’t _want_ to have a crush on the boy from his French class, the one with the strong jaw and the gorgeously messy hair. He wanted to have a crush on someone elegant and stylish and fit (but not more fit than Draco), who was into expensive wine and fine art. This boy wore hoodies and read _comic books_ , for the love of God.

Unfortunately, sometimes, life doesn’t care what we want. 

_It’s unfair, really,_ Draco thought, as he watched the boy sit at the bus stop reading. The guy obviously didn’t care how he looked—he wore joggers to class half the time, and his glasses hadn’t been in style since the Beatles were topping the charts. Also, people spent hundreds of dollars on haircuts and product to make their hair look like pure sex, and this kid just rolls out of bed and runs his hand through it once, and voila! Perfection.

Draco only knew that perfect bed-head look was natural because the guy had once shown up to class late, still wet from a shower, murmuring apologies. And by the end of class, his thick, dark hair was fluffy and tousled better than Harry Styles’ at his best.

 _Truly unfair._ Draco loved his straight, white-blonde hair, and his friend Pansy said he had bone structure to die for. But there’s a reason people go for tall, dark, and handsome, and that reason was sitting right in front of him.

Draco froze. Right in front of him? He hadn’t even noticed he’d been walking, drawn in like a fly stuck in a spider’s web, and now he was standing _right in front of the guy_ , staring at the angry scar peeking through the black curls covering his forehead. 

The young man looked up just as Draco licked his lips and took a step backwards. He blinked in surprise and gave Draco a small nod of hello.

His green eyes were startlingly bright.

“Oh. Hi,” Draco said, taking another step back. “We’ve got French together, right?”

The guy nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. He closed his book, holding his place with his finger.

Draco was glad to see it was an actual novel, even if it did have some sort of dragon on the cover.

“Right, thought so,” he said with a crisp nod. “Harry, right?”

“Yep,” Harry said, too loudly. Maybe he was nervous, too. _Good_.

“Brill. I’m Draco.” Harry nodded and smiled again. He looked encouraging, so Draco took a deep breath and plunged in with both feet. “So, er, I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime.”

Harry seemed to be looking somewhere past Draco, bobbing his head from side to side for a moment with his lips pursed slightly, like he was thinking. Draco held his breath, wondering what he could be thinking to make him look like that, and hating that he cared at all.

But suddenly Harry’s face split into a wide smile, and he nodded firmly.

There was no mistaking that. Draco exhaled. “Brill,” he repeated. “We can sort it out tomorrow. I’ll see you in class.” He gave a small wave.

“See ya,” Harry called loudly, as Draco turned to leave. He couldn’t believe he’d approached a man at a bus stop, like some sort of peasant, but there was something mesmerizing about that guy. Draco was looking forward to digging deeper into whatever that was.

* * *

Draco looked for Harry when he arrived at French class the next day. He was sitting in his usual desk near the back of the room, with an empty desk on one side of him. He nodded and smiled when he noticed Draco looking his way.

It was early enough in the term that it wouldn’t be _too_ weird if Draco picked a new seat. At least, that’s what he told himself as he made his way past his usual desk and towards Harry.

He dropped into the desk next to Harry’s with a nod. “Hey, there,” he said.

Harry gave him a small smile. “Hey.”

 _A man of many words, this one._ Or maybe he was still nervous? Draco knew he could be rather intimidating, after all. He turned up the charm, biting his lower lip and tossing his hair a bit as he asked, “So, are you into football?”

Harry grinned, wider this time, all even white teeth against cinnamon-brown skin, and Draco smirked triumphantly. “Sure, love it,” he replied. “I used to play a bit.”

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course Harry had played football. Helped explain all the joggers. 

And the thick thighs _in_ those joggers.

“Ah, I should’ve guessed that,” he said breezily. “Well, my father’s pulled some strings to get us tickets for the Arsenal match this Saturday. Does that sound all right?”

Harry’s eyes darted from side-to-side, and he pursed his lips in what Draco was already beginning to think of as Harry’s thinking face. 

“What?” he asked, brow furrowed slightly behind those round glasses. “Are you serious?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, I—yeah, I dunno. Guess I’m just surprised you’d use one of your hard-earned tickets on me, when we’ve only just met.” Harry looked delighted. “But of course I’d love to go to the bloody Arsenal match! Thanks!”

“Brill.” Draco shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “It’s no problem, my father knows the owner, but I haven’t been to a match in years. Should be fun, though.”

“Monsieur Malfoy! Monsieur Potter!” their instructor, Professor Binns, called, stroking his thick mustache like a villain in a silent film, “Silence s'il vous plait!” 

The boys nodded their agreement, and the professor began the day’s French lesson.

“Here,” whispered Draco, handing Harry his mobile phone, “put your number in my phone so we can coordinate.”

“Cheers,” Harry whispered back, grinning as he punched in his number. “See you Saturday.”

* * *

They took the London Underground separately and met outside Arsenal Station half an hour before the match. Harry was dressed head-to-toe in Arsenal colors and was carrying both a red and white scarf and an Arsenal pennant. 

Draco was in a navy blue mock-neck pullover (it made his eyes shine like silver) and skinny jeans.

Harry laughed when he saw him. “Well don’t you look like a right ray of sunshine,” he said, greeting Draco with an awkward hug. “You don’t own any Arsenal gear?”

“Not since I was twelve,” Draco sniffed, though he actually admired Harry’s carefree confidence. “I’d rather not look like a Christmas cracker, thanks.”

Harry just laughed some more. “But you do support Arsenal, right?”

“Of course!” Draco’s lip curled in a sneer. “As if I’d cheer for Liverpool.”

“Brilliant.” Harry bumped him playfully with his shoulder as they walked into the stadium. “Then we’ll be alright.”

They had a great time. Harry gushed about Draco’s box seats, and he cheered like a madman every time Arsenal scored. His enthusiasm was almost garish, but Harry was a former athlete, after all. Besides, every time he leapt up from his seat Draco got a peek at his bum in his trademark joggers. Not a bad deal.

Harry thanked Draco over and over and gave him an enthusiastic hug as they parted ways at the train station. “It was my pleasure,” Draco said, and he meant it.

That evening after supper, he received a text from Harry.

_That match was fucking brilliant. I had a great time. Thanks again._

Draco bit the inside of his cheeks in an attempt to rein in his giddy smile as he texted back: _Potter if you don’t stop thanking me I stg I’ll never take you anywhere again_

The reply came quickly. _Alright, no need to resort to threats! Have a good night xx_

This time, Draco couldn’t have controlled his smile if he’d tried.

* * *

When Draco walked into French class on Monday, Harry gave him a wide smile and waved him over to his desk in the back. 

“Bonjour, Monsieur Potter,” Draco said, with a cheeky smile of his own. “Comment c'est passé ton week-end?”

Harry stared at him. “Are you fluent? I haven’t a clue what you said, but your accent is perfect. I always sound like I’m gargling marbles.”

Draco laughed lightly. “Surely you’re not that bad,” he said, lying to Harry through his teeth. “And I wouldn’t say I’m _fluent_ , but my grandparents are French. We used to spend summers in Nice.”

“Wow.” Harry smirked. “I knew you were posh, but I’m beginning to think I don’t know the half of it.”

“Oh, I’m certain you don’t,” Draco said, only half-teasing. “But I’m happy to show you.” Harry laughed and shook his head.

They chatted easily until Professor Binns silenced them again. Then they began passing notes. 

_Binns’ mustache is exceptional today_ , Harry wrote first. He slipped the scrap of paper onto Draco’s desk, keeping his eyes on the front of the room.

 _Exceptionally ridiculous,_ Draco wrote back. He reached over and placed the note in Harry’s lap.

Harry glanced down to read it and coughed to stifle a laugh. Professor Binns glared at him. 

“Monsieur Potter? Per’aps you would like to conjugate the verb _danser_ into the future perfect tense?”

“Non, merci!” Harry said brightly, and now Draco was stifling a laugh. The professor shook his head and sighed, but moved on to another student.

Draco snatched the scrap of paper off Harry’s lap and began doodling. In a couple of minutes, he’d sketched out a reasonable likeness of Professor Binns, complete with thick, angled eyebrows, an even thicker mustache, and a disapproving frown. 

Harry snickered and added a conversation bubble to the drawing. _Help me! It’s eating my face!_

Draco snorted. He quickly folded the paper into quarters and tucked it under his elbow. When Harry reached for it again, Draco raised an eyebrow and shook his head.

“Pay attention,” he mouthed, smirking.

Harry pulled a face at him, but he turned his attention to the day’s lesson. After class, he stood up and took the folded slip of paper from under Draco’s arm. “This is brilliant,” he said, leaning back against his own desk to admire the drawing. “A true work of art.” He grinned and slipped it into the pocket of his joggers.

“Whatever,” Draco said, but he was secretly pleased Harry thought he’d done something _brilliant_.

“It is.” Harry raised his eyebrows and shrugged. Then his grin widened. “Maybe I’ll commission you for something, my aunt’s got a birthday coming up.”

“Does she have a mustache? Because that’s really where my skills lie.”

Harry snickered. “I have faith you can do so much more. But, listen, Mr. ‘My grandparents are French,’” he said, “D’you have plans this afternoon?”

Draco arched an eyebrow. “That depends on what you’re going to ask me to do.”

“Git,” Harry said, still smiling down at Draco. “I was going to say we’ve done a posh thing, box seats at a football match, so how about today I show you how the other half lives?”

Draco suppressed a shudder, though whether it was delight at Harry asking him out again or terror at the thought of doing something _common_ , he couldn’t be sure. “I’m listening.”

“We’ll go to my favorite comic book shop, so you can see they aren’t all that terrible, and then we can grab a pint somewhere, is that alright?” 

“A comic book shop? Will we be the only adults in there?”

“No!” Harry laughed and rolled his eyes. “This is why you need to come, your impression is absolutely wrong.”

“All right,” Draco said, dubiously. “What time shall we meet?”

“I’ve got class ‘til three,” Harry said. “You want to meet me around then at that same bus stop where you saw me last week?”

Both of Draco’s eyebrows flew up this time, and he pressed a hand to his chest in concern. “Or, you can meet me at the Durham Hall car park and I’ll drive us.”

“Ah, you spoil me,” Harry teased. “I’m used to taking public transport.”

Draco shook his head. “You’re so easy, Potter.” 

“That’s me,” Harry said, winking. 

* * *

From that point on, they slipped into a routine more like an old married couple than two hot young men in their twenties. They formed a cozy little study group for two and met on the afternoons they didn’t have class to work on their French assignments. During class, Harry would pass Draco notes about the other students around them, from the guy who brought hard-boiled eggs _every morning_ to the girl whose hair was a different color—pink, then turquoise, then purple—every week. Draco would doodle pictures of these characters and pass them back to Harry. Every time, no matter how silly, Harry tucked the drawings into his knapsack like they were something to treasure.

They texted throughout the day, and Draco had taken to greeting Harry with a kiss on the temple before he dropped into his seat in French class. Most evenings they’d head to the campus dining hall for supper, and Harry made a game out of trying to pinch Draco’s bum before he slid into his seat. Pansy would often join them for these dinners, usually picking at a salad and marveling at Harry’s ability to eat literally anything. Despite this difference, Harry and Pansy got on like gangbusters, mostly because they both enjoyed taking the piss out of Draco over everything from his endless supply of dark-colored jumpers to his hatred for anything resembling manual labor.

“I’m going to the loo,” Draco announced, after one particularly banter-filled meal. “I expect you two to have” –he gestured at his friends— “whatever _this_ is out of your systems before I return.”

He could hear Pansy encouraging Harry as he walked away. “It’s good he has you around,” she said knowingly. “He needs to be knocked off his high horse sometimes.”

“Traitor!” Draco called over his shoulder, and the two of them dissolved into giggles again.

A couple weeks later, Harry took Draco back to the comic book shop, and this time he showed him some comics he thought Draco might like, “based on your art style, you know.” He made Draco go see the latest superhero fare at the cinema, and Draco made Harry join him for an independent French film that was all the rage on the festival circuit. He also took Harry to a Thai restaurant when he learned Harry’d never tried Thai food (Harry didn’t talk about his childhood much, but Draco got the impression he hadn’t been exposed to very much of anything).

But despite his lack of exposure, Harry was smart and cheeky, not to mention gorgeous, and the more he learned, the more Draco felt 100% justified in his crush. Even in the unusual position of pursuing rather than being pursued, he was grateful every day that he’d taken the chance to approach Harry at the bus stop.

* * *

One weekend, Harry called Draco early on a Saturday morning. Draco answered the phone with a growl.

“Harry. Babe. It’s half eight on a Saturday.”

Harry’s deep laugh rumbled in Draco’s ear, and Draco smiled in spite of himself. “Good morning to you, too, Sunshine,” Harry said. “Sorry to wake you, but my mate Ron has tickets to watch Fulham against Queens Park Rangers this afternoon, and I thought I’d see if you want to join?”

Draco sat up quickly. He and Harry had been hanging out for about six weeks, and he hadn’t met any of Harry’s friends yet. That was fine with Draco. Their relationship was still new, and he liked the private world they’d been building. Plus, of his own friends, he’d only introduced Harry to Pansy, so far—he wasn’t sure he was ready to take all the teasing he knew Blaise would give him about Harry’s fashion sense (or lack thereof). 

“I mean, I know it’s not Arsenal,” Harry continued, when Draco didn’t answer right away, “but I figured I owe you one, ya know?”

“No, no,” Draco said quickly. “I mean, I’d love to come. But you don’t owe me, I wanted to take you out, and I did.”

“Great! We’ll meet at the stadium at noon?”

“Brill. See you then.” Draco rolled over and set his alarm for quarter to ten. He’d need at least an hour to get ready, but he also needed his beauty sleep. Dark circles had never looked good against his porcelain skin.

He met Harry and his friends right at noon outside Craven Cottage, Fulham’s home stadium. He greeted Harry with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey there, Sunshine,” Harry said, grinning. He looked Draco up and down and shook his head in amusement. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told this lot you’d probably show up dressed like a mime.”

“A mime!?” Draco sounded utterly horrified. _As if a mime could afford cashmere and these perfectly distressed jeans._ He folded his arms over his chest and tried not to pout.

Harry turned to the group of redheads surrounding him, all of whom were chuckling now. “Told you that would set him off. Draco takes fashion very seriously.” He smirked and threw an arm around Draco’s shoulders, giving him a gentle squeeze.

“Hmph,” Draco muttered, leaning into Harry’s touch. “One of us has to.”

“Draco Malfoy, is it?” one of the four redheads asked, shoving a hand in Draco’s direction. “I’m Fred Weasley.”

That caught Draco’s attention. “Weasley?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he straightened to grasp the man’s hand. “Do you work at Gringott’s?”

“No, that’s our brother, Bill,” another young man said, stepping up to greet Draco. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Ron.”

“Ah, cheers. Good to finally meet you.” He looked back and forth between them. “My father is on the board at Gringott’s, and I recall him saying the youngest member of their fraud detection unit is called Weasley. Is that your brother?”

“It is,” Fred and another boy who looked just like him said in unison.

“Ah, brilliant. I’ve heard good things about him.”

“Ugh, don’t tell Mum,” the youngest Weasley, a girl, said. “She already thinks Bill can walk on water.”

They finished introductions and made their way into the stadium. Draco wasn’t sure what to make of the Weasleys. They were loud and boisterous, with some sort of West Country accent, but his father spoke highly of Bill, and this lot seemed kind and generous and perhaps even fun. They were dressed entirely in Fulham colors, although the black and white of Fulham gear wasn’t nearly as ridiculous looking as the red and white Harry had worn to the Arsenal match. Harry’s friend Ron and his sister Ginny had temporary FFC tattoos on their faces, and the twins Fred and George were carrying a huge Fulham banner.

Harry put his arm back around Draco’s shoulders as they walked to their seats. “At least Fulham’s colors are nice and dark, eh?” he asked, his green eyes twinkling. “Your aesthetic blends in perfectly.”

All in all, it was another fabulous afternoon. The only thing that had been odd was that Harry had referred to him as, “My new mate, Draco.” They’d never had a conversation about it, but he’d assumed Harry was out, since he didn’t seem to mind cavorting all around town with Draco, putting an arm around him or kissing his cheek. But maybe his friends didn’t know.

Draco broached the subject carefully as they walked to the tube after the match. “They seem lovely,” he began. “That Ginny has quite a mouth on her.”

Harry laughed. “She’s hilarious, right? Never met a bigger football fan in my life.”

Draco gave an obligatory chuckle. “You seem very close with them. The whole family.”

“Oh, definitely,” Harry confirmed. “Certainly closer with them than my own family, that’s for sure.”

“I’m sorry.” Draco linked his arm through Harry’s and rested his head briefly on his shoulder. They’d talked a bit about Harry’s childhood with his aunt and uncle, and to call them “not close” was possibly the understatement of the year. 

“It’s fine,” Harry said. He smiled fondly. “Ron basically adopted me the first day of primary school, and once you get one Weasley, you pretty much get them all. Now I couldn’t be lonely if I wanted to.”

“Right.” Draco took a deep breath. “So are you...you know...out to them? 

Harry blinked. “Oh, yeah, they know I’m bi. It’s not a secret.” He hesitated then glanced down at Draco. “Why? Have you told your family?”

“Oh, yeah,” Draco said quickly. “My parents are alright. No, I was just asking because I don’t want to say anything that might make you uncomfortable, if they’re not tolerant—”

“Oh, no, not at all!” Harry assured him. “They don’t give a fig who’s attracted to who or what gender I bring home, really. It’s never been an issue.”

“Oh.” Draco frowned thoughtfully. “So...do you bring people home often?”

“Hmm.” Harry pursed his lips as he considered it. “No, I guess I really don’t. It’s been a while since I’ve dated anyone I’d want them to meet, anyway.” 

“Oh,” Draco repeated, looking pleased now. “That’s brilliant. I mean, that’s fine. That’s nice.”

Harry laughed and poked Draco in the arm. “Glad you approve.”

“Whatever, Potter.” He unhooked his elbow from Harry’s and slid his arm around his waist. “Well listen, Pansy’s hosting tea in a little bit. Care to join me?”

“And she didn’t invite me?” Harry poked out his lower lip. “I’m hurt.”

Draco pinched his cheek. “Aw, poor widdle baby,” he cooed, and Harry slapped his hand away. Draco chuckled. “No, she just didn’t think it’d be your thing, and neither did I,” he admitted. “But you should come.”

“Sure, I’d love to. In fact, it is my duty.” Harry nodded pompously, the corner of his mouth twitching with a smirk. “Pansy needs to hear how you almost cried when I called you a mime, and then how you almost fought that QPR fan after he spilled his chips on you.”

Draco gasped. “First of all, I was not going to _cry_ , but how dare you insult my second-best pair of jeans! And second of all, did you see how greasy those chips were?” he snapped. “This jumper is cashmere!”

Harry waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Which begs the question: who wears cashmere to a football match?”

“Football is no excuse not to look your best, Potter.”

“Draco Malfoy: No days off.”

“You’re damn right.”

* * *

“I’m so glad you came!” Pansy trilled, throwing open the door to her flat when they arrived.

“Me, too,” agreed Blaise, coming up behind Pansy. “I finally get to meet the infamous Harry Potter.”

“Infamous, huh?” Harry said, raising his eyebrows and grinning at Draco and Pansy. “What’ve you two told him?”

Draco’s pale cheeks flushed pink, but he lifted his chin defiantly. “Mostly about your terrible fashion sense and taste in reading material.”

Blaise laughed. “Don’t worry, he tells me the good stuff, too,” he said, with a wink and a wave of his hand. 

“Is that, right?” Harry said, gently tapping Draco’s raised chin with two fingers. “I hope you haven’t given your friends the wrong impression of me, Malfoy.”

“Ha! And what if I have?” Draco asked, recovering himself enough to smirk.

“Then I’ll have to spill all _your_ dirty secrets. Oh! That reminds me—Pansy, I wanted to tell you what this one did at today’s match—”

Draco threw an arm around Harry’s shoulders and covered Harry’s mouth with his hand. Harry laughed and tried to keep talking, so Draco squeezed his side, right below his ribcage. Harry cut off talking with a squeal and wrenched away from Draco.

“Not fair!” he declared, his eyes shining with laughter as he batted Draco’s hands away from his midsection. “Tickling has got to be out of bounds.”

Pansy giggled and rolled her eyes affectionately. “Ugh,” she said, still smiling, “you two are precious, really.”

“Disgustingly so,” Blaise agreed, with a grin of his own. “How long have you been dating, now?”

“About a month-and-a-half,” Draco replied, at the same time as Harry said, “Oh, we’re not dating.”

Draco turned red as a tomato. “What—what—what do you mean, we’re not dating?” he spluttered. “We go out all the time! I kiss your forehead to say hello! You call me Sunshine!”

“What? Ohh, because it’s funny, right? Because you’re always scowling at me, and you wear all that black.” Harry paused and grinned. “But then you’ve got that bright yellow hair.”

“It’s not _yellow_ , it’s _blond_!” Draco nearly snarled in frustration.

“And he’s not scowling at you, love. You know he’s got resting bitch face,” Pansy admonished, though she looked like she wanted to giggle.

Drao glared at her, then back at Harry. “Seriously, Potter. What’ve you been thinking, all this time, when I kiss your head and call you babe?

“I dunno,” Harry said, blinking. “I just thought you were very friendly, you know? Affectionate and whatnot.”

Draco would not have been surprised to learn literal steam was pouring from his ears. “Harry Potter, I _asked you out_!” he yelled, barely resisting the urge to stomp his feet like a child. “That day at the bus stop! Did you think I was just asking you on a date _as a friend_!”

“What?” Harry looked thoroughly puzzled. “When was this?”

“What? What do you mean ‘when was this?’ I saw you at the bus stop, introduced myself, and asked you on a date. And you smiled like you were thinking something naughty, and you said yes.”

“I did?” Harry cocked his head, his green eyes focused on something in the distance. Then his head snapped upright and his face lit up with understanding. “Oh! That day we met! Yeah, you were talking to me, but I couldn’t really hear you. I had my AirPods in.”

“You _what_?” Draco buried his face in his hands with a moan. “Oh my god, this is mortifying. All this time, we’ve been—and I’ve been thinking—and you’re not even interested!”

“Wait, what?” Harry blinked again. “No, I’m totally interested! We can totally be dating, that sounds great.”

Draco’s eyes went wide and he pointed a threatening finger in Harry’s face. “Potter, if you’re taking the piss, I swear to god—”

“No, I’m not joking, I love going out with you! I just meant I didn’t know we were, before now.” Harry looked pleased. “Huh. That’s brilliant.” 

Draco simply gaped at him, mouth working like a fish out of water. After a moment he composed himself, his lips set in a firm line and one eyebrow raised in defiance. He inhaled slowly, then huffed out a heavy breath. “You know, Potter, you’re lucky you’re cute, because you’re an absolute moron.”

And Harry, that cheeky bastard—he grinned and had the nerve to _wink_. “Eh.” He leaned over and kissed Draco’s arched eyebrow. “You’re the one dating me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and keyboard smashes and emojis always appreciated!


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